


Won't Admit to It - The Trip 5+1

by kebinns



Series: The Trip 5+1 [2]
Category: The Trip
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-25
Updated: 2011-08-25
Packaged: 2017-10-23 01:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kebinns/pseuds/kebinns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five Times Rob Tried to Tell Steve and the One Time Steve Heard Him</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. MONDAY

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from Gotye's "Heart's a Mess"

Rob hadn't seen Steve for nearly two years. Not since  _Tristram Shandy_. He'd admired the man – been attracted to him – ever since he'd patronized him all those years ago, but it hadn't been until  _Tristram_ that he knew that too much proximity would be a very, very bad thing.

He’d started dating Sally immediately after  _Tristram _ and had never looked back – well, almost never.

God knows why he agreed to this trip in the first place then. The idea of five days alone together had his stomach tied in in knots.

Steve had let his hair grow long, the grey more prominent than Rob remembered. It was utterly becoming, but he couldn't help but wonder how long it would take before Steve began contemplating dyeing it. Probably had already.

He filled the silence in the car with mindless chatter, trying not to think about pushing his fingers through the greying hair and the warmth he would find there. He couldn't, however, avoid from stealing glances at Steve's profile as he drove. He didn't seem to notice though, obviously preoccupied with Mischa – easy enough to deduce through the man's reluctance to talk about it. He was determined to wear his misery like a shroud.

Challenge accepted, thought Rob, and throughout the rest of the ride and into dinner, he tallied every smile, every laugh, every slip in the man's Byronic facade as a small personal victory. These would be filed away for perusal later.

He tried not to think about sharing a bed with the man. And when the hostess came to inform them of an additional room opening, he was glad Steve was preoccupied with flirting with her, for he couldn't hide the disappointment on his face. It was for the best. What did he think was going to happen anyway?

He had another bottle – he was on holiday now, wasn't he? – sent up to Steve's room; something to drink while he repacked for the move down the hall.

Instead, he uncorked the bottle and began browsing through Steve's book on Wordsworth. So that when the man finally returned to his room, flushed from the wind outside, Rob was very drunk and Steve looked absolutely – no, he stopped himself.

He didn't not want to go there.

“All right, out,” Steve demanded crossly. “Get to your room.”

He  _had _ packed. He'd just gotten distracted.

“I am.”

He got up from where he'd been reading on the bed only to find that he was more inebriated than he'd thought. This was not good, he thought, as Steve grabbed his bags and swept into the hall. Did the man realize how theatrical he was sometimes?

When they reached room seven, Rob struggled to get the key in the door.  _Way _ too much to drink. He'd have to watch it the rest of the week. It was a good thing Steve was being his usual laconic self so that Rob was at less of a risk of slipping up.

“Get a move on,” the man snipped just as the door swung open. He took one of his bags from Steve and moved into the room to deposit it on the bed.

When he returned to the doorway for his other bag, Steve was still scowling. It was painfully obvious to Rob that the man was unhappy. He'd give anything to make him smile. Hadn't he been trying all day? He reached for his bag.

“Thanks.” Steve's lips parted and Rob knew something scathing was about to come out of them.

And then he did something utterly,  _utterly _ idiotic.

He stepped closer to Steve, trapping the bag between him, and pressed his mouth against the other man's. Then he swiftly retreated into the room, taking the bag with him and averting his gaze. He did not want to see the expression on the man's face. He'd meant for the kiss to say  _smile _ , but the moment he'd kissed Steve, his world had canted sideways.

He was thrown off-balance. In response, he threw himself down on the bed, burying his face in his arms.

He'd been afraid of this.


	2. TUESDAY

Rob dreamed that he woke to find Steve gone, so when he actually did wake and Steve was perfectly pleasant, it took everything he had to refrain from hugging his friend thankfully. It looked as though he didn't want to talk about it – fair play – but at least he wasn't going to make a big issue out of it. Last night he'd decided that should it come up, he'd claim he'd been blatto and that, hopefully, would be that.

Whatever was going through Steve's head, he was acting a lot more relaxed than the previous day. Their banter had more of a teasing quality.

Rob had just gotten off the phone with Sally. Hearing her voice and about her day made the drama of the previous night seem silly; not even worth talking about. He missed her intensely already.

He was settling down for the night with a bottle of scotch and just beginning to think that his slip up last night had been the cause of the change in mood – something in his chest fluttered at this thought – when there was a knock on his door. He opened it to find a surly looking Steve. Ah, of course, he'd just called Mischa. Rob's heart sank.

“Steve, what can I do you for?”

At least he'd been able to distract his friend from his brooding thoughts for most of the day. The thought was a small consolation.

Steve's eyes surveyed his state of dress, sweeping down and up once. That small fluttering in his chest was back.

“Ah, I was going to go for a drink,” Steve said. “But looks as though you're ready to turn in so I'll just – “

Rob knew he shouldn't but he jumped at the chance.

“Don't be ridiculous, come in.” He stepped back from the door, gesturing for the man to enter. “I ordered up some scotch earlier. I thought about inviting you over to share but –“

He'd made a mistake.

He could tell by the way that Steve hesitated that they were both thinking about what had happened last night. Rob braced himself for  _the talk_. He could see it all laid out in his head: Steve would make it clear that he appreciated Rob as a colleague – he wouldn't use the term friend, Rob was certain – but that he wasn't like that. Instead, Steve's face relaxed into a smile that slowly warmed.

“Sure. One drink, then I'm off to bed.”

Rob grinned back.

  
Three or four drinks later, he was no longer smiling. He'd only had the one, but he had a very drunk Steve on his hands. The man kept jumping topics: how miserable he was on his break with Mischa, how his career seemed to be stalling no matter how hard he tried...

“How'd you do it,” Steve slurred.

Rob wasn't sure what the man meant so he stayed quiet.

“You're so –  _happy_.” He uttered the word like a curse. “How?”

Rob studied his friend's face, for the first time glimpsing just how bad things had gotten. His voice caught on the lump in his throat. In lieu of an answer, he stood and took a hold of Steve's elbow.

“Come on. Let's get you to bed.”

He needed Steve to be elsewhere and quickly. If they continued down this path of conversation, he didn't know if he could stop himself. He wanted to take Steve in his arms and make everything better.

He settled for looping one arm around the man's waist as they made their way down the hall to the other room. Rob's finger's gripped the man's hip.

“You really go all out, don't you?” He said to the empty corridor to distract himself from the feeling of Steve leaning against him.

Once at the room, he settled Steve on the bed. The man fought him like a petulant and willful child as he got him to lay down and pulled off his shoes. He left Steve momentarily – muttering nonsense into the bedsheets – while he searched for a blanket, returning to cover the prone figure of his friend.

“Thnkoo,” Steve mumbled, voice addled from drink. Rob couldn't help but laugh, reaching out to touch the man's shoulder. He'd never seen the man so vulnerable before. Wings of hope beat against his ribcage.

“Go to sleep, Steve,” he said even as he mentally urged himself to go back to his own room before he did something – 

Before he could stop himself, he'd leaned forward and pressed his lips to Steve's temple. The man turned into it and Rob was helpless. Heart stifled and aching, he moved his lips over the other man's, lingering too long, memorizing the brush stubble and the texture of Steve's mouth. 

_Dammit_ . He knew he was in for it now, but Steve only sighed against his mouth.

Rob knew he was a goner.


	3. WEDNESDAY

Rob paid for his transgression dearly. Steve was relentless, but he closed his mouth and took it. He deserved it, but it rankled. He'd taken advantage, but he wasn't the only culpable one. Steve  _must _ know by now.

The constant insults finally got to him when they reached Coleridge's home. Rob struck back by drawing parallels between Steve and the wayward poet. He could see the man visibly bristle at his comments.

This was not how he wanted this trip to go.

He resigned himself to whatever punishment Steve decided to dish out.

When the man sought him out for a walk, he went along complacently and listened to him as he rambled on about the landscape. The man was determined not to address what had happened.

Things only got worse when the attendant at Dove Cottage turned out to be a fan. Even though Steve stood behind him, he could feel a dark cloud decent upon the man's mood. He was unbearable, finding fault with everything – Rob, the attendant, Rob, this trip, Rob, the food... Rob –  until they returned to Coleridge's.

It wasn't until Steve lit up a smoke that he lightened up. Not for the first time, Rob wondered at his friend's dependence on drugs, but as he smoked, he drew closer, became more animated, smiled more. Rob could only dredge up a half-hearted chastisement, making yet another comparison to Coleridge.

“That's the trouble with you, Rob. You're not open to new experiences.”

The comment hardened something inside of him. If he didn't know better, he'd think it'd been a challenge. He was tired of this and he started gathering his things, but to make his point, he reached out and snagged the spliff out of Steve's fingers then brought it to his lips, taking a small drag.

He had leaned in close to grab the cigarette so he could see Steve's pupils were blown wide.

“I'm not the one not open to new experiences.” The smoke trailed from between his lips and stung his eyes, but he didn't break his gaze.

There. The challenge had been met and returned with his own; flung into Steve's smug face even though it could mean the end of their acquaintance. He reached out, returning the spliff. Steve was perfectly still, looking intently at Rob's face, a wrinkle of concentration between his eyes.

Finally, the man reached out for his cigarette, but no, his fingers caressed the back of Rob's hand, lingering. Before he knew what he was doing, Rob had leaned forward and kissed the other man firmly, recklessly. He had nothing to loose now. He'd thrown down the gauntlet himself.

And Steve was returning the kiss, awkwardly at first but then tilting his head just right so that Rob could deepen the kiss, running his tongue over the man's lower lip. Steve jerked, his breath hitching. The man's fingers – still stroking the back of Rob's hand – turned and closed around his wrist, pulling Rob toward the other man.  _Oh God_. This was happening.

Rob desperately wanted to allow himself to be pulled forward. He could straddle Steve on the couch. They would be at the same height and he knew it would be delicious, exquisite torture. But Steve was high and probably drunk as well, and to be allowed to get that close to him only to find out it had been a mistake...

It would break Rob's heart.

He pulled away, turned and ran from the room without a backward glance.

In his room, he leaned against the door in the dark. Eyes closed, head back, he unfastened his jeans and thought about Steve's lips, the way he'd sighed last night, his fingers around Rob's wrist, the man's blown pupils before they'd kissed – he came messily, cursing himself for his own stupidity, Steve's name on his lips.

He stumbled to bed, resolving to follow Steve's lead from now on.

He slept poorly that night.


	4. THURSDAY

Steve looked exhausted the next morning but greeted him with a smile. The little bird of hope fluttered madly. The negativity that had plagued yesterday had lifted, replaced with a subtle frisson, a sudden awareness of Steve physical presence in relation to himself.

Yes, he would let Steve set the pace. It had been the other man, after all, that had tried to pull Rob towards him.

Rob laughed easily on the car ride, giddy with the potential.

  
When they reached the meeting with Emma and the photographer Yolanda though, things reverted. Steve repeatedly flung Rob's offerings of friendship, even joking as they were, back in his face. At Emma's raised eyebrow, Rob knew that he wasn't the only one who noticed.

The worst thing was the way Steve flirted with Yolanda, escaping alone with her at the first chance.

Rob was left alone with Emma.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He gave a slight shake of his head and she dropped it.

He liked her. She was warm and easy-going and as Steve's assistant, put up with the man's constant abuse. That alone made her a worthwhile person in Rob's eyes. He flirted with her, knowing it would go nowhere; not  _wanting _ it to go anywhere. It just felt good to flirt and have the coy smiles and innuendos returned.

He invited her back to his room so they could continue their debate on comedy.

They'd barely been there for five minutes when there was a rapid knocking at his door.

“Come in.”

Steve entered looking harried and cold, cheeks pink from the bitter moor winds. To Rob, the man looked absolutely beautiful. He didn't try to stop himself from thinking it this time. When the man saw Emma he came up short.

“Oh, hi,” he stammered. “Sorry. Am I interrupting?”

Emma giggled. Rob was certain she hardly ever got to see her boss at a loss for words. He raised an eyebrow and grinned crookedly at her. This caused Steve to scowl. She took pity on him.

“No. No. We were just chatting,” she said, her voice tinged with mirth. “I'm about ready to head off.”

Steve was looking at her intently. She faltered, confused.

“How did the photos go?”

“Same – oh, I – fine,” Steve replied, suddenly unfocused and distracted. He was looking down.

Emma and Rob shared an inquisitive look, both of them shrugging.

“Good to hear,” she said, getting up to leave. “Anyway, I'll see you back in the city, yeah?”

Emma thanked Steve for dinner as she left, pausing only to shoot one last look in Rob's direction. He forced his face to stay casually blank.

With the click of the door, Steve's eyes raised to meet his. The man looked agonized. What had happened? He drew closer to his friend.

“Food disagreeing with you?”

He stopped short, standing within arm's reach of the other man, arms at his side. After all, it could be nothing, but Steve responded to his question with a choked-sounding laugh. Now Rob was really worried.

“Steve?”

The man looked lost as he raised his arm towards Rob. The movement was agonizingly slow, but he knew what was going to happen before it did: Steve's fingers brushed over the back of his hand and then circled his wrist. Rob's eyes had fallen shut. He hitched a breath through his nose, strongly reminded of the night at Coleridge's, but he remained where he was. He was determined to let Steve take the lead.

They stayed like this for what seemed like an eternity: Steve's back against the door, hunched forward, arm extended toward Rob, fingers around the man's wrist, Rob standing stiffly less than a foot away from him.

Then Steve's fingers curled gently, pushing against the pulse in Rob's wrist. There was no way he could hide his racing heart beat from the man. The fingers shifted again, thumb pushing up and under the cuff of the jumper Rob wore. The hair on his arms stood up as he suppressed a shiver.

Rob opened his eyes.

Steve was raising his gaze up to meet his. He couldn't keep the emotions running through him from his face, but it didn't matter. They were mirrored on his friend's face. He stepped closer not of his own accord, drawn to the pain he saw there. He could feel the heat radiating off Steve, see the flecks of gold in his eyes, could feel warm breath on his cheek. There was no tell-tale scent of alcohol on the man's lips. Rob angled his head. He would not be the one to initiate but the closeness was intoxicating.

“Please,” Steve whispered, a breathless and pleading word. 

Something broke inside him and he was kissing Steve, without control or restraint. He pinned the man against the door and pressed his tongue past lips. He twisted one hand in Steve's shirt and rested another on his hip as he wedged his knee between his thighs. Steve parted for him beautifully. The man was trembling, hands clinging to Rob's shoulders, so very close to coming apart at the seams.

But then Steve's hands were against his chest, pushing... pushing Rob away. 

And the man was shaking his head. Deflated, Rob let himself be pushed back. Steve was a sad sight, propped against the door, gasping for breath, hard-on visible through his tight jeans. Rob ached, wanted to reach out to him but afraid of being pushed away again.

“What?” he asked, concern thick in his voice.

Steve stopped shaking his head but continued looking down, defeat etched in every line. Rob was suddenly angry. He'd made it so very obvious that he wanted this and there was no way Steve wasn't at the very least attracted to him.

“What?” he demanded, raising his arms, palms out: an offering.

Steve turned and fled.

Rob wanted to follow him. Everything in him screamed at him to do so. He locked the door and turned off the lights, trying to bar such ideas from his head. It was Steve's decision, he told himself, pacing his room, but when he finally fell into bed, he dreamed of Steve with Yolanda.

He woke in the middle of the night with tears on his cheeks before falling back into a dreamless sleep.


	5. FRIDAY

Steve sought him out in the morning, inviting him on a walk. For the first mile, they couldn't overcome the awkward silence that bloomed between them. Rob's fingers itched to touch the other man but the thought of taking Steve's hand in his own was laughable.

Finally Steve seemed to find the lingering silence unbearable and started talking about the landscape, the history of the geographical region. Honestly, Rob preferred the uncomfortable silence to this pedantic speechifying.

“The only thing that babbles is a brook. You know what else babbles?”

“You,” he shot back playfully, hoping to earn a small smile, but his companion was as serious as ever.

When Steve left him sitting alone by the brook, he missed the other man's presence like a physical ache, watching him climb higher and further away.

  
Rob occupied himself with Steve's book on Coleridge until the man returned from his hike. They headed for the Yorke Arms. Steve was unusually subdued for the rest of the day. Rob wondered what had happened on his walk and if he'd talked with Mischa again.

Concerned, he sought him out after dinner and found himself in front of the man's room, hesitant to knock.

He steeled himself and rapt purposefully on the door. There was silence from within the room. He knew Steve was there, he could see the light spilling from underneath the door. Fear that his friend had made the decision to ignore him flooded him with anxiety.

“Steve?” he whispered, unable to keep the pleading from his voice.

Footsteps came toward the door and then Steve was there. They stood looking at each other for a moment. The man had the same defeated look to him from last night. He had to fight against his every instinct and stayed rooted to the spot.

But when Steve didn't seem to know what to say and since he didn't appear angry in the least, Rob stepped into the room. He was careful to keep space between them, forcing him to slide around the door so he could shut it softly behind him.

Steve took a careful step toward him, but Rob stayed where he was, back against the door. This was their last night together. He needed answers.

“What do you want?” he asked in a soft and neutral voice, eyeing Steve carefully.

The man seemed to struggle internally, moments stretching out into one another.

“Rob – “ Steve's voice was a choked whisper.

The man leaned closer to him, touching their foreheads together. His name from Steve's lips and the restrained contact sent sparks trailing down Rob's spine.

“I want –“

Steve squeezed his eyes shut. Rob was acutely aware of how close they were: Steve's breath along his jaw, one of Steve's hand brushing against his hip, the man angling his head so that their lips were aligned. God, he would be the death of him.

“What do you  _want_?” he asked – begged – pleaded – through his clenched jaw.

“I don't know.” Steve's quiet answer was a puff of warm air on his lips. “I want – “

Rob willed him to finish his thought. He reached out and curled his fingers around Steve's hips, unable to keep from touching, one hand travelling up and over his stomach, pressing into the buttons of his shirt. He desperately hoped Steve wanted him. He sighed against the man's lips.

“I want you,” Rob whispered; a strangled and broken confession.

Steve was nodding, lips brushing against his in acquiescence.

Rob kissed him then, turning the incidental contact into something more. Unlike last night, he kept a rigid but tenuous hold on his self control. He would not rush Steve if he could help it; would let him set the pace. He was determined to mentally record every moment in case – he stopped himself. There were more important things happening.

Steve's tongue traced his upper lip and he opened to him, tongues meeting. The other man moved even closer, pressing Rob against the door with the full length of his body. Rob shuddered at the sensation of being pinned and relinquishing control. Steve moaned into his mouth and slipped his arms around him. 

The other man's actions were suddenly desperate, like once he'd tasted what he wanted he would never be able to get enough. Rob allowed himself to be swept along, loosing himself in the feeling of Steve's hands slipping under his shirt, stroking the skin above his waistband, his friend's tongue in his mouth, the curve of Steve's buttocks under his hand.

Steve stepped toward the bed, refusing to relinquish his hold on Rob. He turned them right before the back of Rob's knees caught the edge of the bed. They fell onto the mattress, Steve sprawled on top of him. Rob wanted to laugh at the levity of the moment in the midst of such a serious scene but Steve's lips were on his again. The man hitched his hips, rocking their erections against one another. 

Rob let loose a strangled  _fuck _ and kissed his way to Steve's neck. The man gasped and arched his neck to allow better access. As he kissed and sucked, he made quick work of Steve's shirt, pushing it down the man's arms – revelling in the feel of said arms under his hands – and then forcing his hands underneath the other man's waistband.

Steve's hands were under his jumper, fingers exploring the muscles of his stomach then moving over his chest and ribs. The man's hips were making small, rhythmic thrusts against him in –  _God –  just the right way_ . At this rate, they weren't going to last long. He could already feel the pressure building towards the breaking point.

He heard Steve muttering something. It took him a few repetitions to make it out.

“More,” he was saying.

That, Rob could give him.

He hooked his leg behind Steve's, braced himself and rolled them over. He sat astride Steve's hips, looking down at the flushed and tousled figure beneath him. The man's hands were still underneath his jumper. He stripped it off over his head, granting him better access. Steve grazed on of his hands over a nipple. Rob pressed their erections together in approval.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Steve moaned in a guttural voice an octave lower than usual.

Rob couldn't help but grin as he fumbled with the button on the man's jeans.

“That's the plan.”

Steve's hands covered his.

“Rob, wait. I –“

He could see the sudden worry on his friend's face and wondered if he'd never done this before. The idea that maybe he'd be the man's first filled him with a delicious anticipation. He'd always assumed – Steve had always been so flirtatious – that the man was bisexual at the very least, but that maybe he just wasn't attracted to  _Rob_. But there was no denying that Steve wanted him now.

“Don't worry. I'll be on the receiving end.”

He got the button undone and pressed his fingers against Steve's naked hipbones. The man thrust upward. He pushed a thumb under the waistband of his pants, swiping a slow arch through the coarse hair there. Steve seemed to be having a hard time breathing.

“No, that's not – “

Maybe it was Mischa – no, he knew for a fact he'd slept with the Polish hostess and Yolanda. His wife then?

“It's fine. I'm allowed to with guys,” he placated, kissing Steve's lower lip slowly. His wife had always been clear that he was allowed. He smiled at the thought.

“Never thought I'd want to,” he admitted, planting small, open-mouthed kissed along Steve's jaw. The man shivered underneath him.

“Especially not with  _you_ ,” he playfully teased, his voice low, laying on the Welsh accent thickly. He'd observed how much Steve liked his native accent.

He placed a soft bite at the juncture between shoulder and neck. Steve turned his head and pushed his hips up against his. Fucking hell, this was going to be  _cracking_.

Then Steve – bloody Steve I-have-the-worst-timing-ever Coogan – ruined everything.

“I'm not gay.”

Rob froze, mouth still on Steve's neck. The moments drew out before Rob could formulate a response.

“Bully for you,” he whispered, deadpan.

Ironic thing to say, he thought, as Steve's hip nudged up against him again. Rob was torn. It was so  obvious that Steve wanted this. His body was betraying him, whatever he insisted on saying. But it wasn't like he could force it upon him.

Rob huffed out a sigh and tore himself away, rolling to lay next to his friend. He wasn't even angry. Hurt? Yes. But seeing Steve get in his own way like this made him ache in a whole new way.

“Why is that such a hang up with you?” he said softly into the darkness of the room.

Silence. He hadn't really expected a reply anyway.

As the seconds ticked passed, worry overcame him. How was this going to change  _them_?  It's not like they'd ever been particularly close but the idea of going back to how they'd been before – after this incredible week – made pressure well up behind his eyes.

“What's going to happen when we get back?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Neither of them moved.

Rob eventually heard Steve's breathing settle into the shallow rhythm of sleep. When Steve rolled onto his side, he shifted up behind him, slotting himself against the man's back and placing a kiss between his shoulder blades. He wanted to stay close to the man for as long as possible. 

He'd let himself go too far and the only outcomes he could see were painful ones.

  
He slept fitfully, rising early and retiring to his own room. There was no point in delaying the inevitable.


	6. SATURDAY

By now it was no surprise that, in the light of day, they avoided talking about what had happened. Rob knew he would never be able to force Steve into it, but in the cemetery at Bolton, with the faux eulogy. They acted like it was a joke, but Steve seemed to be making some sort of concession; almost an apology.

Rob desperately wanted to kiss him right there. Instead, he ducked his head, feeling heat creeping into his cheeks, and thanked him. He wanted to return the favour. Unlike Steve, he knew  _exactly _ how he felt about the man standing next to him – had known for years – but he turned and walked away before Rob could start.

He wondered what Steve was so afraid of: that he would be critical – he certainly had been so towards Rob – or that the only words Rob would be able to find would be ones of glowing praise? He had an inkling that it was the latter Steve was running from.

And then the man had gone and thrown himself in a lake.

Wonderful.

Back at the SUV, trying his best to hide his amusement, Rob dug through their bags. As it was the last day of the trip, there wasn't much that was clean.

“Bollocks,” Steve muttered behind him. “I'm freezing!”

Rob rolled his eyes, pulling a pair of Steve's jeans free. There were absolutely no salvageable tops though.

“Strip off,” he offered. Without the wet clothes, the man would be warmer. He gave up and chose one of the jumpers he'd packed for himself. It was his warmest, albeit ugliest, one.

“What? Here?” the man said indigently.

“There's no one around for miles,” he insisted and he turned, holding up what he'd selected for his friend's inspection: jeans, jumper and pants. He'd find socks for him in a bit. He was more concerned about getting him out of his wet clothes.

There was an inquisitive look in Steve's eye that disappeared as the wind blew strongly.

“ _Bugger_!  Fine.”

Rob ignored the petulant tone in his voice. The man tossed aside his coat and began working at divesting himself of his shirt.

“Is that yours?” Steve ask accusingly, eyeing the jumper. “It won't fit.”

Rob didn't know where the man got the idea that he was so much bigger than him. He wasn't going to argue about this. Steve was only stalling.

“All your clothes are dirty and it's big, so yes, it will.”

The clothes were giving him trouble as they clung damply to his body. As he struggled, Rob studied him. He had to admit, he was enjoying the more that just a little bit. He even liked how uncomfortable Steve was growing under his gaze.

“Bollocks,” he repeated, throwing the shirt aside and holding a hand out for the jumper.

Rob set the rest of the clothes on the bumper of the car and stepped forward with the article in question, gathering it at the neck hole.

“Arms up,” he said.

Steve gaped, still shivering.

“You can not be serious.”

Rob raised an eyebrow, letting a small smirk ghost across his lips. Surprisingly, Steve relented – he must have been really cold – and held his arms out in front of him. Rob pushed the sleeves up his arms one at a time and lifted the rest of the jumper over his head, moving closer to help.

“I'm not your sodding child,” Steve muttered before Rob had forced the neck hole over his head.

“What was that?” he said, more amused than annoyed by the man's stubbornness.

Steve gaze caught his and he gave the man a smile, rubbing his hands up and down, shoulder to elbow.

“That better?”

Steve didn't return his smile but continued looking at him. His expression was hard to read. At least he looked less miserable.

“Your hair's a mess, though,” he noted, reaching up to straighten the damp locks. He pushed his finger tips into the hair, starting at the temples and moving backward.

Steve's eyes fluttered shut.

When his fingers had reached the base of Steve's skull, Rob let them linger there, unwilling to step away just yet. Touching this man was like completing an electrical circuit, his nerves were set alight, buzzing. Then Steve leaned toward him, head tilting. Steve was going to kiss him.

Steve was going to kiss him!

But after last night, with his heart still aching with the rejection, he couldn't trust it. He removed his hands from Steve's neck and turned away, picking up the clothing he'd set aside earlier as pretence.

He turned back and handed them to a confused looking Steve.

“Here. Finish up,” he said, shocked at the coldness in his voice. He moved to walk past him, but was stopped by Steve's hand around his wrist.

“Wait.”

Steve's voice broke pitifully, so Rob put up no resistance as the man pulled him back, but he couldn't bring himself to meet the other's eyes.

“I want you to kiss me,” he said, voice strained and throaty.

Rob finally looked up at this. Steve was asking for this. His friend was obviously up for a physical relationship. Rob weighed it in his mind; thought about the emotional toll that would take at him. That familiar prickly pressure was building behind his eyes, causing his voice to break when he finally spoke.

“I love you, Steve, but I can't do that.”

He'd meant for it to be lighter, firmer, not so... broken.

He moved away. Steve let him go.

  
Again, they didn't talk about it but it followed them around for the rest of their trip. Each moment that passed Rob became more desperate, knowing that nothing he did now would matter but wanting more than ever to reach out. When Steve dropped him off at his house, his desperation had reached a fever-pitch.

“I'll see you. Uh, give me a ring and we'll, uh, you know, get together.”

Steve should already know everything that offer entailed. He was offering himself. Wasn't that the most he could do?

As Steve drove away it felt like the close to a very short and bittersweet chapter in his life.

His house seemed foreign when he entered. Ron wondered if perhaps he wasn't experiencing a strange and rare form of reverse culture-shock.

But with his wife's easy domesticity, the smell of her cooking dinner, and entertaining his baby, he started to feel more like himself than he'd felt all week. He began to regain the precious balance he'd so completely lost.

  
It was very late indeed when the phone rang. He was surprised to see Steve's picture – looking surly as ever – pop up.

He answered.

“Hello?”

He wondered if he could have left something inadvertently in the car. There was silence on the line. Misdial?

“Steve?” he inquired.

And then Steve was talking. Relief flooded through him, warming him.

“Ah, yes... hello,” the man said. “Hi.”

There was a pause. Rob was at a loss, but Steve continued.

“Since you said to give you a ring, I figured tonight would do just as well as any other.”

He sounded uncertain, but Rob was grinning so wide his cheeks hurt.

“Of course,” he said, not trying to hide how pleased he was. “I'm glad you called.”

He heard Steve huff out a sigh.

“Rob?” there was an edge to the man's enquiry.

“Yes?”

This time there was no hesitation, Steve's answer came immediately.

“I know what I want.”


End file.
